


Sick Day (or: What's a Little Orange-Flavored Cough Syrup Between Lovers?)

by DaydreamDrabbles



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Protective Peter Parker, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDrabbles/pseuds/DaydreamDrabbles
Summary: Peter takes care of Wade on a sick day after Deadpool's classic shoot-first-ask-questions-later-style anti-heroism gets him infected with a mutated virus. Snot, vomit, and domesticity ensue.





	Sick Day (or: What's a Little Orange-Flavored Cough Syrup Between Lovers?)

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever upload to AO3, so apologies if there are formatting issues.

     Icy sleet  _tik-tik-tak_ 'ed against the windows of the small Brooklyn apartment. Outside, the city hustled, huddled in jackets and heated taxicabs under a white-gray sky. Crime never sleeps, but it doesn't exactly enjoy getting caught in the first freeze of the season, either. Today was all they could have asked for in a sick day.

     "What is Comet!" Wade's voice was thick with congestion as he shouted at the tv. "I'm on a roll today, baby boy!" A coughing fit interrupted his celebration, but couldn't dampen his spirit.

     "You didn't take that cough syrup, did you?" Peter spoke over the television from the kitchen where he was almost finished making Aunt May's chicken soup.

     "You know, you used to be all, 'Ugh, Wade, lay off the cough syrup!' Which is it, Petey?" He failed to suppress another sharp cough. "You can't have it both ways."

     "Wade," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

     "Ok, ok, I give. You can have it both ways, but don't blame me if I drop some snot on you while I'm giving you the business."

     "I-ew."

     "Hey, you're the one looking to get slimed like Cousin Skeeter." Wade sniffled exaggeratedly.

     "Look, I'm sorry, ok. They only had the orange flavor. Don't be such a baby."

     "Pete," Wade's voice was serious, but Peter knew better, "I would literally rather lick Wolverine's claws after he fisted a lady bigfoot with a yeast infection than drink that so-called-citrus-flavored abomination. Death before decaf!"

     "Jesus, Wade. That was..." Funny, but Peter would never admit it out loud. "...extra." Peter gave the soup a final taste. "I hope Wolverine's well-cultured adamantium whet your appetite."

     "Soup?!" Wade vaulted off the couch and into the kitchen. Peter could see him holding back another coughing fit. A few days with a weaponized, genetically mutated cold couldn't kill Wade, but it was definitely making him pretty miserable if his ramped-up banter was any kind of barometer. He was past the infectious stage and well on his way to recovery, but he still didn't want Peter to see his mask slip, so to speak.

     Very focused on not coughing while still looking casual, Wade danced in place as he watched Peter ladle out some steamy-fresh soup into his favorite Spider-Man bowl. His nonchalant and totally in-character dance plan backfired, however, as it made him breathe harder, which tickled his throat, which made him cough, which turned into a long coughing fit, which may or may not have ended with him coughing up and then swallowing some kind of organic chunk (Maybe a bit of an organ?) It was a total old lady and the fly situation in any case, and as Wade tried to recover his composure he caught Peter doing the thing.

     "I caught you doing the thing." He coughed and swallowed another chunk.

     "What?" Peter had been far away.

     "You're doing the thing." Wade glanced hungrily at the full bowl in Peter's hand.

     "What thing?"

     "The thing! The muttering." His stomach whined as he stared at the soup.

     "Well, Wade," He passed the bowl with just a hint of passive aggression, "I wouldn't worry so much if I didn't have to hide your medicine in a piece of cheese like you're a dog." Wade eyed the soup with suspicion. "It's not in the soup." Peter sighed as he turned off the stove and put the lid on the pot.

     Wade watched Peter sulk to the couch and flop down with another sigh as the soup burned his hands. And maybe his conscience. He took a still-suspicious sip, perking up at the flavor-no artificial orange. He glanced at the cough syrup on the counter, surrounded by a whole hoard of sick supplies-boxes of tissues, OTC meds, saltines, one of those old-timey things you fill up with the hot or cold water, stacks of pirated Bollywood movies... Peter had really gone overboard for him at the bodega.

     "You aren't jacking it to yeasty bigfussy in there, are you?"

     "Well, you  _did_ get the tissues with lotion."

     "Better that than my dress socks."

     "It was dark!" His shout set off another coughing fit, and Peter turned up the volume on the tv. A minute later Wade sat next to Peter on the couch, soup in hand.

     By the end of the episode of Jeopardy, some normalcy had returned. They were both calling out answers and making quips while Wade sipped slowly at his soup. Halfway through the next episode Peter began to notice a definite lag in Wade's response time. His quips slowed and lessened in outlandish vulgarity.

     "Are you feeling ok?" Peter could smell the sheen of sickly perspiration as it formed on the back of Wade's neck.

     "Just dandy, baby boyaaaaruuugggh-" Wade vomited forcefully into the bucket Peter had _just_ managed to shove in his face.

     "Jesus, it smells like wood polish and turmeric."

     "I was getting notes of Tang and celery myselfuuuugggh-" Chunks of what was hopefully soup bobbed around in the gradually-filling bucket. "Man, I'm glad I don't have to write the onomatopoeia of me blowing chuuuuaaahh-" Peter waited a moment for the vomiting to stop.

     "Better?"

     "Loads! Huuuurrrr-" He threw up into the bucket for a fifth, then sixth time. "Ugh, that one came out of my nose a little."

     "How much soup did you eat?" Peter tilted the bucket cautiously, glancing at the contents. They were suspiciously orange. "Did you...?"

     "Well," Wade was smiling, his face pale and sweaty, "you know how I feel about cough syrup." He pulled the bucket away from Peter, quickly removing it to the bathroom. A few flushes and some intense gargling later, Wade sat back down. "I'd give it a solid 2.5 out of ten. It should have been grape-flavored."

     "Looked more chunky than solid to me." Peter smiled, wrapping his arm around Wade's shoulder.

     "Gro-oss!" Wade sing-songed as he leaned into Peter, a wide smile plastered on his face.

     "Hey, you're the one who smells like he gave the Kool-Aid guy's orange-flavored cousin a blow job."

     "Yeah?" Wade scoffed, "What does that say about you, baby boy?" Peter smiled as he lifted Wade's face to his.

     "I guess it says we're both gross." He planted a tender kiss on Wade's forehead and another on his lips.

     "Hey, Pete?"

     "Yeah, Wade?"

     "Is there any more of that cough syrup?"


End file.
